


Soft Breath, Beating Heart

by mardia



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Breathplay, F/M, Mirror Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-24
Updated: 2010-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the people on the Enterprise, McCoy never thought it'd be her. (Mirrorverse.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Breath, Beating Heart

_I want to hold you close / soft breath, beating heart / as I whisper in your ear / I want to fucking tear you apart._ She Wants Revenge, "Tear You Apart".

 

Somehow, he'd never thought it'd be her. Sulu, maybe. Or Kirk, or Chapel, or God, even Spock—but not her. Not the quiet, solemn Communications officer, who looked at everyone with her dark eyes that had gone hard with years of suspicion.

The thing is that McCoy knows he's a handsome enough man. There's nothing vain about it, it's just a fact that's hard to ignore when a goon from Security's leering at him and talking about his "cocksucker mouth". So yeah, McCoy knows well enough, and ever since he stepped foot on the Enterprise, he's been waiting for that overture that he can't refuse, won't be _allowed_ to refuse.

He's just never thought of himself as handsome enough to catch the eye of someone like her. McCoy likes to steer clear of the gossip and rumors that run rampant throughout this ship, but even he's aware of Sulu's frustrated advances towards Uhura, and he's heard plenty about Spock's supposed interest in her.

But Uhura's never done anything but brush them both off. Well, in the case of Sulu, it's more of her holding a knife to his crotch and threatening to make sure he only sings soprano, but the basic sentiment is the same.

So he never thinks anything of it, of the careful way Uhura watches him every time she comes in for a physical, or to get her injuries treated after an away mission gone wrong. For God's sake, it took months before she'd relax around him enough to put away her knife during her appointments, months before she'd relax enough to keep it sheathed, and even now, she still places it within easy reach, every time she lies down on a biobed.

He's just always figured she was watching him to make sure he didn't try anything, even though he never has, not with her, not with any of the crewmembers of the Enterprise. He likes being alive, for one thing, likes having his appendages right where they are, and honestly—having a partner who's unwilling or reluctant has never held any interest for him whatsoever.

He's grimly aware of how much of a rarity that makes him, both within Starfleet and within the Enterprise.

But he'd chalked it up to that, remembering how long it took Chapel to stop looking at him with distrust and suspicion. He'd chalked it up to that, and left it alone, because good God, you just had to look at Uhura to know she could have anyone on this ship, including Kirk, so what the hell would she want with _him?_

Apparently she wants this.

 

*

McCoy never likes being left alone with a member of the crew, and avoids it if he can, but he doesn't think Uhura means him any harm. Granted, she's probably one of the most dangerous crewmembers on this ship, but McCoy doesn't pose a threat to her or really, to anyone, so it's hard to see what advantage she'd gain from killing him. So when she appears in Sickbay and asks to speak with him privately, McCoy agrees.

He shuts the door behind them as they walk into his office, and offers Uhura a seat opposite his desk, but she says simply, "I'd rather stand."

McCoy blinks, but goes with it, settling down in his chair and looking at her curiously. "Well, what'd you want to talk to me about?"

Uhura looks at him for a moment, and then apparently decides she's going to break his brain a little bit, just for kicks. "You're not sleeping with anyone on the ship."

McCoy gapes at her, while his brain stutters and then gropes for a response. "What—_no_, I am not—what the _hell_ kind of crazy question is that?"

He's about to say more, but he's cut off when he realizes that Jesus, Uhura's _smiling_. A faint, amused smile, but still—it's a smile, aimed at him. "Good," she says. "That makes this much easier."

He's about to ask her just what the hell she even means by that, except she's circling around his desk to stand right in front of him, and she's leaning down, and brushing his lower lip with her thumb.

McCoy goes very still in his chair, frozen with shock. "Uhura," he manages after a moment, his voice strangled. "What _exactly_—"

But she keeps touching him, her thumb at the corner of his mouth, her other hand reaching out to cup his face, brush his hair out of his eyes.

McCoy doesn't push her away. He holds still, and he lets her keep touching him, and he's not even sure why—well, maybe he does know. It's not just that Uhura's beautiful, but it's the _way_ she's touching him, gently, easily, her fingers skating along his skin.

It's been a long time since someone touched him like this. Touched him at all, really, in a way that wasn't impersonal or brutal or worse, both.

So he holds still. He doesn't push her away.

And Uhura takes his acquiescence for agreement, for consent—and she steps closer still, tilting his head up so he's looking her right in the eye, her fingers wrapped around his chin. "Are you with me here?" she asks quietly, searching his face, and whatever she's looking for, she must find it, because she smiles brilliantly, teeth flashing, right before she leans in and kisses him on the mouth.

He gasps against her lips, still shocked by how surreal all of this is—he's in his office, kissing Uhura—but then she's shifting forward, bracing her hands on his shoulders and tilting him back far enough so that she can straddle his lap in her short shirt and those goddamn _boots_—

His hands flutter for a moment before coming to rest on her thighs, the skin warm and soft under his hands, Jesus, and she just smiles against his mouth and rocks her hips forward against him, and oh God, if she keeps doing that this'll be over soon a lot longer than either one of them want.

It's easier than one would think, to just close his eyes and go with this, which is probably why he pulls his mouth away. "No, wait," he gasps out. "What—_why._ Why me, why now?"

She looks at him for a moment, and God only knows what she's seeing when she looks at him. And then her mouth quirks and she says simply, like it's the only answer that matters, "Because I want to." A corner of her mouth tilts up. "Are you telling me _no,_ McCoy?"

She leans in to kiss him again before he can respond, and when he kisses her back, automatically, helplessly, he figures that's all the answer she needs, and the only one he's capable of giving.

Her hands slid into his hair, and she tilts his head back even further as she gets more—more aggressive, her teeth nipping at his mouth, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

It's nothing like he expected, none of this is like his expectations, mostly because he's never had any, but he _likes_ it, he can feel his skin prickling all over with how much he likes it.

Too much. He pulls away again, and her hands tighten briefly in his hair before they relax. "We need to move this somewhere else," he manages to tell her, and her face, which was verging on a frown, breaks out into an amused smirk.

"No," she says simply, and McCoy stares at her in disbelief.

"Good God, woman, I'm at the end of my shift—everyone's right outside—"

"Don't care," she says coolly, and then her mouth tilts up in that smirk again. "Actually," she says, considering, as she rocks back and forth against him, until he's gritting his teeth against a whimper and rocking his hips up, his cock hard in his pants as he ruts against her. "I think I like the idea. Everyone right outside, wondering what we could _possibly_ be up to in here—"

He chokes on the thought, even as his treacherous cock gets even harder, even as his hands flex against her skin.

"And the whole time, I'm doing this to you," Uhura says, her voice dropping, getting lower, softer. She brushes her fingers against his mouth again, running her thumb along his lower lip. "Making you want this."

He doesn't even know what possesses him to let his tongue flicker out, taste the pad of her skin. He tastes nothing but the ordinary salty taste of flesh, but Uhura's breathing gets more shallow as she fixes on his mouth, so McCoy closes his eyes and keeps doing it, keeps licking at her thumb, and when two of her fingers press against his mouth, he sucks them in, his eyes closed the whole time.

It feels both like an eternity and no time at all before she's saying, her voice no longer steady, "Enough."

She takes her fingers out, and McCoy keeps his eyes closed, right up until she orders, "Look at me," and right on cue, his eyes snap open and he stares right into her face. "Good," Uhura says softly, and then she's getting up and off his lap and he stares at her, breathless and confused, because what—are they _stopping_ now, now that she's got him all wound up and aroused and confused as all hell—

"Get on the floor," Uhura orders him, as calm as ever, like she's sitting in her chair on the bridge, reeling off transmissions.

It takes a second for his mouth to work. "Why?" he demands, and she just raises an eyebrow through it.

"So I can fuck you through it, that's why," Uhura tells him calmly. "Now get out of the chair and lie down on the floor, face-up."

And he does it. He gets out of his chair, legs unsteady underneath him, and lies on the floor of his own fucking office, face-up just like she wants, his erection tenting his pants, confusion and embarrassment coiling up in his stomach, spiking his lust up even further somehow, despite everything.

Thank God, thank God, she doesn't waste time. Instead, she just looks at him for a moment, head tilted, mouth curving up, pleased as she surveys him, and her hands are reaching in under her skirt, and McCoy watches, mesmerized, as she pulls down this little black, lacy scrap of underwear, and manages to stretch it out over her boots, pulling them off in a display of grace that's more than anything McCoy's managed to do in his life.

She actually grins at him, in response to whatever look's on his face right now. "I thought you'd like that."

He nods silently, and his eyes must be wide as saucers, but she just laughs a little, under her breath, and goes to straddle him again, but this time instead of just rubbing against him, she goes to work at the fastener of his pants, her slim fingers deft as they work his pants open, as she pulls his pants and his boxers down and takes out his cock.

He shudders, his hips jerking up into her hands, and she laughs again, her thumb rubbing at the slit. He reaches out to grab her, to pull her close, to stop an end to this fucking _teasing_, but like a flash, she's pulling back, using one of her hands to pull out the knife that every female officer has tucked away in their boots, and quick as lightning, she's got it placed against McCoy's throat.

"Don't."

He holds still. He holds very fucking still.

Uhura keeps the knife there, balanced against his throat, and the hell of it is that her other hand is still on his cock, and even if his brain's gotten the memo about a knife being held against his carotid artery, his stupid, indiscriminate cock sure as hell hasn't.

McCoy's seen and been in some fucked-up situations since he signed his life away to the Empire and to Starfleet, but this is absolutely a first.

Uhura seems to relax after a moment, smiling faintly. "Good," she murmurs, and it's not clear which one of them she's talking to. "This is on my terms, McCoy. When I want you to touch me, you will. And when I want to touch you—" her hand starts moving again on his cock, stroking gently up and down, "—then I will. Understand?"

"Yes," he says faintly, his pulse jumping underneath the edge of the knife.

"Good," Uhura says again, shifting her weight, and thank God, her hand holding the knife remains steady, and the pressure against McCoy's throat decreases slightly, which is a very good thing, because now, oh God, oh fuck—she's guiding McCoy's cock inside of her, and bearing down until he's sheathed inside of her tight wet heat and Jesus fuck, a harsh noise escapes his throat despite himself.

Uhura wriggles her hips for a moment, rocking back and forth, getting herself settled, and McCoy bites his lip and holds still, holds perfectly fucking still, his nails biting into his palm, until Uhura lets out this soft noise. "Better than I thought," she breathes out, and she finally pulls the knife away from his throat, and McCoy turns his head as she pulls her hand away, still holding the knife, and McCoy lets out a breath, relaxing—

But then her other hand slides up his chest, until she's wrapping it around his throat.

Her grip's firm and strong, but McCoy can still breathe, just…shallowly. Very shallowly. "Good," Uhura says, moving back and forth on his cock, a little bit, enough to make his breathing hitch. "You can touch my hips, if you want," she offers, and McCoy doesn't need to be told twice, his hands reaching up to hold her hips, and even that gives him something to—center himself on, the feel of her underneath his palms, even if it's through the fabric of her uniform.

She looks down at him, and her grip gets tighter and tighter until he's fighting for breath, his vision swimming before his eyes.

He still isn't trying to fight her off, he's still not trying to resist, he hasn't even gone _soft_, and Jesus, of all the fucking times to find this out about yourself—

"Tell me to stop," he hears over the rushing noise in his ears. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

The pressure on his throat relaxes slightly, just enough so that he can wheeze out, his eyes squeezed shut, "Please."

"Please what?"

His eyes snap open at that. "Oh, for fuck's sake, move, please, just fucking _move_—"

And then she is, thank God, she's finally moving with intent, her breath hitching like maybe all of this has been driving her just as crazy, winding her up just as much, and she's so hot and slick around him and his hips are driving up into her, and they've got a perfect rhythm going and she's gasping softly, and she's bracing her weight on his chest, and his hands are gripping her hips even tighter, and he can't stand it, he's going to lose it—

His hand slips under her skirt, moving until he's rubbing at her clit, roughly but she doesn't seem to mind, instead she's dropping her head and hissing out, "Yes, like—like _that_, just like that—"

"Look at me," McCoy breathes, echoing her earlier demand, but it's not an order with him. It's a plea, because he just—he needs her to look at him, to _see_ him, none of this makes any sense, but that doesn't matter when she's looking him in the eyes and—

Her wide eyes fix on his face, looking just as overwhelmed as he feels, her mouth open as she pants for breath, and fuck, McCoy is going to lose his _mind_ here, and she's going to be the reason why.

"Please," he begs once more, even if he doesn't know what he's begging for. "Please."

And Uhura just nods, and bends down to kiss him, and McCoy sighs in relief into her mouth as he fucks up into her, but then she pulls away, goddammit, and he wants to pull her back, but her hand's sliding onto his throat again, and she's pulling off to watch him, to stare at him as he gasps for breath around the vice-like grip of her hand, and this is dangerous and suicidal and _so fucking stupid_, and he's jerking up into her anyway, faster and harder as the sparks go off behind his eyes.

He barely manages to hold himself back, just long enough for Uhura to clench around him. She's nearly silent when she comes, but her eyes are fixed on his face the whole time, and McCoy groans loudly, his eyes slipping shut as he finally comes inside of her.

*

They're still lying on the floor, catching their breath, when McCoy finally asks the question.

"Uhura," he says at last, exhausted down to the bone. "Why me?"

She's silent for a moment. "I knew you weren't going to say no," she says finally, but then shakes her head. "No, I…I knew you'd let _me_ say no, if I wanted to."

"Yeah," McCoy agrees. "Of course."

She looks at him, and a corner of her mouth tilts up, but ruefully this time. "You're the only man on this ship," she tells him, "—that would say that and mean it."

He falls silent at her words, knowing she's telling the truth.

Uhura looks at him for a moment longer, and then turns away to look up at the ceiling as she adds, in a more conversational tone, "Besides, I like your mouth, and I like your eyes. And your ass."

That last sentence, said in such a matter-of-fact tone, gets a shocked breath of laughter out of him before he realizes, and out of the corner of his eye, Uhura's smiling up at the ceiling.


End file.
